


#ThrowbackThursday

by redphlox



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: AU, F/M, Gym AU, warnings for swearing and kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/pseuds/redphlox
Summary: Soul regrets his life choices, Maka kicks his butt as his merciless ex-girlfriend-turned-personal-trainer, and sometimes two people are meant to be together no matter how much they bicker. But are he and Maka just that? SoulxMaka. AU.





	

Lowkey stalking his ex’s Instagram only worsens his pining and reinforces masochistic tendencies, but Soul physically cannot stop refreshing Cool-Angel’s Instagram account. It’s an addiction.  _She_  was, at least. Maka withdrawals consist of feverish symptoms, like squinting into his phone’s too bright screen at the unreasonable hours of the night in anticipation of new selfies.

Sleep drunk Soul also has no shame – shedding a few tears may or may not be part of this ritual, to be honest. Rotting inside out because of how much he misses Maka Albarn isn’t how Soul had imagined his death, but at least he can surrender to the single life with fewer regrets now that his creeping skills have provided him with a haven of Maka goodness.

In the seven months since she had ended their relationship with a thunderous slam of a door, she’s been on four road trips, cut her hair to shoulder length, and has ingratiated herself into the fitness lifestyle up to the point of becoming certified. Nurse by day, personal trainer by night. Thank you, internet, for keeping him updated, because Maka had blocked him out of her life so  _easily_  –

But he can’t help noticing that she still wears the earrings he bought her for their first anniversary. 

Wondering  _why_  makes him blind with hope.

“This is the  _last_  time,” Soul promises himself half-heartedly as he scrolls through that day’s uploads. Apparently for Maka, lounging poolside and sipping on lemonade had been on today’s agenda, a new romance novel propped open in her lap. This was after breaking in new leggings at the gym, because six photos dedicated to her backside and thighs at different angles were also uploaded onto her account.

Soul has  _regrets_ , but they’re not all physical, of course. He’s missing out on her greatness, on her triumphs, and what stings the most is she has soared without him.

“What the  _fuck_ ,” he whispers, disbelief scratching his throat when a haphazardly edited picture jumps out at him. The image on the right is a mirror selfie, Maka flexing a grandiose bicep, sports bra, and the tightest shorts in the universe emphasizing her new toned physique.

But the one on the left -

The only thing that hurts more than seeing a glowing Maka pulling him close to press her lips to the corner of his eyebrow while he smiles into the camera, completely smitten, is the caption:

_#ThrowbackThursday, before and after edition. I feel so much better these days._

x

Ignoring the underlying stench of sweat that chemicals can never hope to mask, Soul shoves his credit card at the bored desk attendant once he’s inside the gym, duffle bag hanging by his side. Operation Re-Earn Cool-Angel’s Love is in progress. No fuck-ups as of yet.

Soul clears his throat. “I want in.”

“You don’t need to pay to go to the smoothie stand, sir, there’s an entrance on the other side of the building.”

“No, I mean I want a membership.”

Even this stranger looks shocked - the combination of meticulously gelled hair and neatly ironed workout attire apparently screams  _“I don’t like to exert myself”_  to them.

They’re not wrong about him, though.

“Sign this waver. We have no liability if you hurt yourself on the equipment.”

Soul rolls his eyes, scribbles his name on the form, and power walks through the first floor on the lookout for a petite, pigtailed blonde with killer thighs and a stomach so firm and flat he could use it as a table. She’s probably in the weight room, surrounded by a cloud of obnoxious EDM music blaring from her bright pink headphones, but that theory’s quickly debunked when he scans the area to no avail.

Sure, seeing Maka’s post on Instagram drove him slightly mad, but in his defense, the combination of silently missing her and realizing that she still thinks about him gave him a spark of stupid hope. He’s wandering through the cardio area when he feels eyes on him and he turns and -

There she is to his left, frozen in disbelief until he blinks and it must awaken her, because her face changes too.

Murderous scowls don’t scare Soul – if anything, he’s touched that Maka has picked up this habit from him. Bangs clinging to her forehead, she takes a sip from her water bottle between laborious breaths. The cutoff orange t-shirt looks dangerously familiar, and when he sees the black “ _p i a n o m a n”_ logo he wants to yodel happily.

That’s his shirt.

His  _shirt_!

The fact that she wears the earrings he gave her for their first anniversary and his shirt has to mean something. Who wears jewelry when they work out? Who keeps theirs ex’s stuff?

She yanks an earbud out. “What are you doing here?” Her words are scalding water on his sensitive heart.

Soul grins bravely, but he actually wants to drop to her feet and beg for forgiveness. “I’m ready to convert… I’m ready for the gym rat lifestyle.”

Maka’s scoff is so intense Soul is sure she’s given herself a sore throat. “Puh- _lease_. You can barely stand up for five minutes without your back hurting.”

True. Soul hops onto the bike next to her, giving her a thumbs up. “That’s exactly why I need to start working out. How do you use this thing, anyway?”

Her response is a skeptical side-glance, popping the earbud back in, focusing on the television hung on the wall straight ahead of them. Pedaling slowly, Soul plays with the buttons on the dashboard, figuring out what all the up and down arrows do, learning that a resistance of 14 is hell compared to 1. The timer on his bike reads twenty-three minutes into his leisurely ride when Maka finally hops off, wiping the sweat near her brows away with a towel.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he begins, sliding off the uncomfortable seat that’s probably going to make his sit bones ache for a week.

“Lucky for the both of us,” Maka snaps, straightening her shoulders but looking at him curiously. “Why are you here?”

Really, he tracked her down to say that he saw her post and it made him snap. It broke something inside him. Of course, that’s not her fault, but he wants to be honest and go back to the beginning to when she didn’t consider him a dead weight tied around her ankles. There’s also a small part of him that wants to prove to himself that he did the right thing by breaking up with her - the right thing for her. She deserves better.

But he ends up saying, “I want to be one of those prissy people who post before and after pictures on Instagram.”

Maka raises a perfect brow suspiciously but doesn’t take the bait. “What do you want from me, Evans?”

So now they’re that kind of less-than-friendly acquaintances - the type that use last names. Enemies.

It goes against his better senses, but since when does he think before he acts when it comes to Maka? “Be my trainer?”

The sides of Maka’s jaw bulge as she grinds on her teeth. Looking away from her intense stare would only show weakness, so he bravely meets green and remembers when they’d have staring contests, all of them ending in hickeys.

Rather quickly, even though it feels like a lifetime to Soul, Maka grimaces and growls, “Okay. But only because Ox is a terrible trainer, Black*Star is too preoccupied with himself to properly teach exercises, and I need to fill my quota. Sign up at the desk at the back, and  _don’t_  wear skinny jeans. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Ouch. But he can’t deny that he deserves every bit of that.

x

An explosive breakup hadn’t been anywhere on the radar.

“Can I sit here?” were the first words she had spoken to him, and they had stepped off the bus a few stops earlier than they planned to talk more about how stupid the fire alarm testing was set up at their dorm. She lived on the floor above him, and that morning everyone in the building had been jarred awake by shrill ringing. It ended up okay though, because they had made curious eye contact during that time they were mulling around waiting to be let back inside, and it later served as an icebreaker when they officially met.

Their friendship blossomed fast, almost too fast. Maka Albarn tutored him in English, History, Government, Calculus, reminded him to eat, fashioned a sleeping schedule to help his insomnia, and responded by kissing him on the mouth when he accidentally confessed he liked her. Mostly, she led and he followed, and that became their rhythm.

That’s just how things had unfolded between them - quickly,  _frighteningly_ so. Usually, bad luck followed Soul around like a loyal puppy, and he had learned to dread the day Maka finally realized she could do better.

When it happened, he hadn’t been surprised. Heartbroken, yes, but never dazed. Fours years was a long, long time. 

She had yanked a chair over and climbed onto it to better yell in his face at the end of their senior year, her anger only broken by confusion when he had burst into a fit of delirious giggles because the whole damn situation was ridiculously frustrating. They had been standing with balled fists in his kitchen at four in the morning, scarlet-faced, pent up frustration fueling their carelessly thrown words.

“Why don’t you want to move in with me?” ‘Pissed’ wasn’t a good enough word to describe the rage spelled out by her body language.   
  
Lots of reasons existed for Soul’s hesitance, namely the fact that he wasn’t good enough for her. His low GPA, lack of passion, and the sinking feeling at realizing he hated his music degree paled in comparison to her straight-A transcript and department-wide recognition in the nursing program. But he had said, “I don’t know. We’re moving kind of fast.”

That had translated into disinterest to Maka, who hadn’t cried or fought with him, but instead climbed off the chair, snatched her purse from the table, and slammed the door shut behind her on her way out.

In retrospect, Soul should have followed her, should have accepted her proposal to be roommates and share a bed, but he decided to let himself lose her.

And that had been that.

x

Weeks later, he thinks he’s broken through. Kind of. She smiles when he walks into the training office to meet her for their sessions, immediately steeling herself when she realizes how her face must look. Soul can’t help but notice her touch is lingering and her looks are soft when she thinks he isn’t looking.

Grunting, Soul sprawls himself out on the yoga mat. “Did you see? I just did three crunches.”

Beside him, she sighs. “And your form was terrible. You probably herniated three discs.”

Soul has been nothing but sore for the past week and a half, and Maka’s done everything short of tearing him apart with critiques and a laundry list of Olympian level exercises. Surprise had looked endearingly cute on her when he had shown up to their second session - maybe she’d thought that making him do burpees for five minutes nonstop would have been a deal breaker.

Now she’s trying to impose the yoga lifestyle on him, concerned that his hip flexors are impossibly tight and that he can’t touch his toes to save his life. Years of slumping forward have resulted in tight chest muscles, so she has him lying on a foam roller three times during their sessions. Today is core day, something Maka feels passionate about, especially after he couldn’t do five leg lifts the first time she assigned him the exercise.

Sometimes Soul loses his cool and wants to ask if she still cares about him - she brings him water bottles, doesn’t she? He’s not sure if personal trainers do all that for all their clients. Lately, her words have been less sharp and more gentle, laughing when he accidentally says something she finds funny, encouraging him to work out when she’s not there.

He’s not brave enough to ask, though. She’d kick his ass to the moon and back because he has no right to her feelings. And that’s how he likes it - he’s always been afraid of her. Not in the way that makes him anxious, but in the way that inspires him to be better.

Maybe that’s what he was missing way back then when she asked him to move in together: trust in himself to grow alongside her. Working out regularly is definitely giving him some new strength, but maybe that’s just Maka’s grin when he runs his first mile without stopping and is finally strong enough to do a pull-up.

X

Days go by, two months melt together, and soon his cheeks always pleasantly ache from smiling too much, and his other set of cheeks complain too every time he attempts to sit down. Maka is a huge fan of all varieties of squats - he’s so thankful for their existence and their magnificent effect on the glutes and tries not to stare at her ass whenever she’s walking away. He has no right. Maybe she’s warmed up to him  _a lot_  since he first sought her out, but they’re only sort of friends now,  _barely_.   

As much as the rush of pride in himself for keeping up with her is intoxicating, it’s nothing compared to the way his heart leaps up his throat when she asks him if he wants to grab a post-workout smoothie one day as they’re leaving.

Naturally, he plays it cool. “‘Kay, sounds good.”

Eyebrow arched at him, she nods her head toward the smoothie stand at the back entrance of the gym, ordering a peanut butter cup for herself. Soul doesn’t outright try to copy her, but he’s so jealous of the ingredients in the drink because they’re obviously one of her favorite combinations that he orders the same thing.

Sitting awkwardly across from one another at the tall round table, Maka sips away at her smoothie, looking over at him. “… How’s Wes?”

It’s the first time she has mentioned anything outside of their professional relationship. Soul can’t help but be scared again. Does this mean Cool-Angel has enough space in her life for him? “Rich and successful, like always. And your dad?”

“Loud and overbearing, like always,” she says around her straw, shrugging.

And that’s it. But it leaves him wanting more. He’s so weak.

X

Soul is in love with Maka and he wants her back ASAP, is desperate enough to work out every day until he dies to keep her in his life, but there are limits. Exercising takes too much effort, which is listed under his allergies, right after Bullshit and before Stupidity, and he’s sure that Maka makes his heart beat faster than any cardio she could force upon him. All of this physical suffering would be worth it if he didn’t feel like he’s close to dying whenever he sees her, waiting for something to change between them.

They’re just friends now, no matter how many times Maka raves about how proud she is of him, or how many times they trade off buying each other smoothies after training sessions. It’s not the same.

Please, this needs to end  _soon_. Emotionally, the training has taken too much of a toll, because he’s lost too much sleep burning quietly for Maka, who also sports bags under her eyes. Maybe he’s hurting her with his presence, keeping her up at night too, not letting her rest. Maybe they’re not a good match and he’s trying to revive something that’s already been buried. She had taken his hesitance to move in as his way of breaking up with him and never looked back, hadn’t she?

What’s unfair is that he has to break up with her again because he’s reopening wounds that should have healed by now. Being just friends is a special kind of torture - he’d almost have her go back to hating him because the purgatory they’re in is strange and suffocating.

It just needs to end.

He feels it in the way she’s struggling between pushing him away and keeping him close. Upping the workouts to five times a week instead of two might be stemming from a part of her that wants to get back together, but she’s also been making the sessions more physically impossible. She’s trying to kill him, but he doesn’t blame her. After all, he broke them and the beautiful thing they had going, and now she’s driving him to do the same thing again.

All he knows is that the training sessions have to stop. Maybe he’s just scared all over again, terrified that he might actually be her match this time and that he’s not worthy of that glory. It’s cruel that he let her go the first time because he wasn’t good enough, and now he’s contemplating leaving again because he might stand a chance but doesn’t trust himself not to mess up.

He needs to end it. Not for himself, because there’s nothing more he wants than to stay in Maka’s life, but for her. He’s damaging her, confusing her, and she’s going to be the end of him no matter what.

Especially since she’s using his weaknesses to test his dedication today.

“I can’t do that,” Soul pouts. If he had pockets he would stuff his hands in there, but his swim trunks don’t have that refuge so looking absolutely stern should suffice.

“Get in the pool, please,” she repeats tiredly for the third time.

His legs are already ready to betray him.  _Yes, ma'am._ “But I can’t swim.”

At the stairs, Maka steps into the pool until the water laps at her legs, right where her one piece ends and her thighs begin. “It’s like four feet deep, Soul. I promise you won’t drown.”

Squinting, he gives her an exaggerated skeptical look. “Will you save me if I do?”

Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a giggle. “Maybe. Probably.”

That’s good enough. It’s almost a promise in itself, especially with the ghost of a smile still illuminating her face. She must be a siren because when he beckons him over, he floats right to her, unafraid of the cool water rising from his ankles to his knees to his waist to his mid-chest as he follows her in deeper.

“We’re going to do laps today,” she says, undoing her pigtails and flinging her hair ties to the bench where they dumped their duffle bags and shoes.

“I can’t  _swim_.” He crouches down in an attempt to hide, only his nose barely out of the water.

“I’m going to teach you, silly.” She’s got him mesmerized with her staring as she drifts through the water toward him, nothing but the eerie silence of the indoor pool between them. “I know you’ve always wanted to learn.”

He gulps. There are other things he’s been wanting to do too, like hold her and glue his mouth to hers, but sometimes wishes don’t and shouldn’t come true. That’s his luck. He has to break up with her again before she reaches him and drags him in deeper. Splashing water at her is his only defense, edging toward the steps again, pleading with himself to be immune to her laughter.

But  _goddamnit_  he’s a loser with neither self-disciple nor shame. Unbeknownst to him because he’s too busy throwing water in her general direction, Maka ducks underwater and swims to him, sneaks up on him like the tide. Magic is his voice disappearing when she nudges his thigh, how beads of water cling to her eyelashes and her hair sticks to her forehead as she surfaces, splashing him.

The war is short, Soul destined to like it when he loses. Even when he foresees his defeat and turns tail to escape from the pool, he knows he won’t be able to resist Maka Albarn, who is a force stranger and stronger than gravity. And he wants to give in, of course. He barely has time to hold his breath as she tackles him and they sink under together. It’s only natural that they emerge facing each other, dangerously close, that their lips meet and they study one another to see if anything’s changed.

They still fit together, and Soul feels himself melt a little.

x

Shit happens.

The next few sessions end in stolen kisses initiated by Maka and encouraged by a ready and willing Soul. They’re completely unprofessional, but if no one sees them it’s okay, right? The lights in the parking lot flicker on and off so that’s where they usually kiss goodbye, Soul walking Maka to her car, the pair joined at the hands. It’s almost like when they were dating. It’s easy, so easy, to be swept away by emotions when it comes to Maka.

Everything’s fine and beyond perfect even - until the day they’re short staffed at work and time escapes him. When Soul doesn’t show up for their training session on Thursday, he envisions Maka busting through the maze of cubicles where he spends eight hours a day conveying money between accounts, coming to kill him. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t reply to his text either, or his email, or his DM on Instagram.

When he shows up for their next training session, she barely glances at him.

She shrugs. “I already booked someone during your usual time.”

“Oh.”

It’s over, officially. He messed up. His lips tingle at the sight of her closing the space between them in three strides, his sternum strangely sore as she jabs a finger there to emphasize her displeasure. “I don’t like being stood up. It’s a violation of our contract, so I’m not your trainer anymore. Good luck training with Black*Star.”

Soul is reeling at the unfairness of it all - his explanations fall on deaf ears, ears that are now naked, earring-less. So that’s how it is. They can make out in the pool one incredible evening and she can drop him dead cold the moment he misses an appointment. Trying to hold on to that is ridiculously child-like, though, and even though it’s shameful and he deserves it, he sticks with it because it’s the only thing keeping him semi-sane.

“Fine,” he says, his shoulders rounding under the pressure of the world coming down around him. “Wait, no - it’s not fine. I was held up at work-”

She’s quicker than a whip. “And you couldn’t call me or anything?”

“I texted you-”

“That’s not the point!” Now she’s pacing like a wild cat contemplating just how to attack. “I’m so stupid. I thought we could be something again, but then you go and act all flakey, just like when we were dating-”

“I was afraid,” he admits, trying to gulp but finding that his throat doesn’t work. “Give me one last chance to be your trainee. Please?”

He fully expects Maka to jump up and kick him in the throat, but she doesn’t. By now he should know she’s just as weak for him as he is for her. She names a place and a time and tells him to get out before she changes her mind and he does as he’s told.   
  
_Yes, ma’am._

x

A jog on a secluded trail with Maka isn’t how he imagined memorializing the first anniversary of their breakup, but he’ll take what he can get. The opportunity to apologize to Maka is more than enough to hold him over. He may be rotting from the inside out but he isn’t stupid – she’s going to lead him deep enough into the park where no one will be able to hear him scream, but that’s okay. Desperation is ugly enough to convince him that he needs Maka’s touch this badly, even if it’ll involve her hands wringing his neck instead of kissing the lines of his hipbones.  

He just needs to talk to her. To explain himself and make her hurt less. All he has to do is put her burdens at ease, to make sure she knows it’s not  _her_  but  _him_  who can’t function, but talking as they run is impossible. The trail has too many turns and is coated with pebbles he almost slips on, and Maka won’t slow down for anything - except when she slides on a plastic bag that flies into their path.

“Oh God, are you okay?” he asks stupidly, holding her by the arm when she attempts to stand but collapses again.

She nods yes.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a  _nurse_ , Soul! I’m fine.”

Obviously, she isn’t; she can’t bear any of her weight for long. Something’s wrong with her head too because her mulishness shoots through the roof and refuses any of his help. Twenty minutes of bickering about her injured knee shifts to an argument about  _them_  and how he makes her head hurt sometimes. She had  _trusted_  him,  _loved him_ , and he refused to talk it out when things got tough. Obviously, he didn’t want to move in together because he hadn’t cared - was any of it real? Soul doesn’t have any excuses, just reasons: he was riddled with self-hatred and insecurities and it bled onto their relationship and killed it.

It’s enough to calm her down. The silence around them is stark compared to their yelling. Talking her into climbing onto his back is easy enough, Soul backtracking and piggy-backing her to civilization, both stuck in their minds.

“I mean it, Soul,” she says out of nowhere. “This is our last training session.”

He asks, but he knows the answers, “Can we try again?”

“No. Fuck no. Never–”

This is probably the last time he’ll get to hold her. Crying is a real possibility. Thumb grazing the soft curve of her knee, Soul gives her his all. “I miss you so fucking much, Maka…”

“ _Good_.”

“I fucked up.”

“I fucked up, too, trusting you.  _Again_.”

Heart slamming into his sternum, he feels lost. “I don’t even know everything that I did wrong but I’m so fucking sorry.”

She doesn’t hear him. He’s not even sure if she’s yelling about the training stuff or their relationship, but it singes either way. 

“If you didn’t want to be together with me, you could have just s-said-” Maka breaks, even if he’s holding on to her tightly. Fingertips press into the curves of his shoulders. Her chest heaves silently against his back and he feels sick and wants to disappear. When she speaks again, though, her voice is stony and he knows she’s trying to build a wall around herself.

She says loudly but shakily, “Actually, you know what? Put me down. I can walk by myself.”

“We’re six miles away from anywhere!”

Stubbornly, she bunches up his shirt in a fist, sniffling. “I don’t need you, just like you don’t need me!”

Nails dig into the round of his shoulders until he bends down, his hands regretfully coming off her. He watches her try to put weight on her leg, watches her face twist into a scowl as she almost teeters over.

“Maka, let me help,” he sighs, not wanting to argue but willing to do it for her knee’s sake.

She’s quiet, staring at the ground as she stands on one leg. For a moment Soul thinks she’s finally convinced herself that he’s trash and doesn’t deserve the light of day, but then she covers her face with her hands. Between being impressed by her balance and wanting to scoop her up and take her to the nearest clinic while she’s not looking, Soul’s skin buzzes with anticipation at what she has to say.

“I don’t hate you.” She won’t look at him. “I miss you too, you know.”

“Really?“ He’s pathetic. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he suspected it because she still wears his shirt and the earrings he bought her, but there’s nothing like hearing it to make it more believable.

Nodding, her voice is small as she admits, “You broke my heart.”

Soul is the worst, he really is. “I’m sorry,” he says, gulping. The words are useless and empty and don’t fix anything.

“And then you broke my heart again when you didn’t show up the training session. It was like that time senior year again, when you didn’t want to commit.” This time she does peek through her fingers at him. Relief floods him when he confirms she’s not crying again. He’d never forgive himself if she shed more tears for him - he’s not worth it, after all. “But that’s my fault for pushing so hard.”

“No!” It comes out louder than he wanted. “It’s my fault. I’m an idiot for crawling back. I saw that picture you posted of us and - I don’t know what I was thinking. I deserved that. And even now I wouldn’t blame you if you did it again… I’m still scared.”

She opens her arms like she wants to hug him. “Scared of what, Soul?”

“You. Me. Being with you, not being with you.  _Us_ , I guess.”

There’s nothing to be afraid of except a future without Maka. He knows it. That must be why he leans down to slant his mouth of hers, because he’s never been good at using his mouth for words, but  _kissing_  is another story. Teeth scrape against his bottom lip eagerly. It’s animalistic and Soul revels in it because that’s how he’s always been - a little bit masochistic, a little bit soft for Maka.

Of course, they still need to talk. Hell, they need to get to a clinic first, because by the time they’re out of breath from apologizing to each other, her knee is swollen and sore and stiff. She says her only regret is that she won’t be able to train for a while until it heals, and when she’s being wheeled to get an x-ray hours later, Soul waits in the lobby and checks Cool-Angel’s Instagram account out of habit.

Oh - there’s a new post, uploaded thirty-four minutes ago, probably while they rode in the taxi. It’s a selfie of  _them_  on their first anniversary, seconds after she put on the earrings. How fitting; they broke up a year ago today, and now they’re together, so it’s only right to commemorate the date, right? Back then he would have never imagined being allowed back into her life, but a lot happens in a short amount of time. 

Luckily, their feelings for each other haven’t changed.

The caption gets to him the most:

_#WaybackWednesday. It feels so good to be by your side again._

 


End file.
